


This Time Will Be Different...

by h_nb



Category: Original Work
Genre: Beating, Blood, Caught, Hitting, Punching, Struggling, Whump, Whumptober 2020, knocked out, restrained
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:00:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26958460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h_nb/pseuds/h_nb
Summary: Whumptober Day Eleven: Struggling
Comments: 6
Kudos: 4
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	This Time Will Be Different...

**Author's Note:**

> (part one)

No, no, no, no, _no!_

Keaton clamped his mouth shut, but he felt like screaming in frustration as hands, always, so many hands, dragged him down a hallway that seemed to stretch infinitely far in the dark. He twisted his shoulders against the hands, and dug his heels into the ground in an attempt to gain some balance for himself, but the grip from the men on either side of him held firm underneath his arms, marching him forward despite his attempts at resistance.

He had been careful, he had played it safe for as long as it took those fractures and bruises to mostly heal. He explored the places he had been to before, safe areas that he barely counted as exploration. Keaton took photograph after photograph, but the familiar locations were doing nothing to scratch the itch under his skin to find someplace new, someplace actually interesting to him before he went out of his mind with boredom from sitting at home for so long or going to the same places he already knew.

At least this time, Keaton had stuffed his less expensive, more durable, and certainly smaller camera deep into the pocket of his jacket, and as he was roughly pulled toward an open door, he hoped that would be enough padding to at least save the memory card. Still, it didn't stop him from trying to get out of this situation before it took a far worse turn for him, _again_. He took a deep breath and tried taking steps back, twisting his body to get away from the men on either side of him. All that happened, though, was that he tripped, falling forward as his legs fell behind him. He tried to stand again, but he was being pulled forward too quickly, leaving his body tilted at an awkward angle and his shoulders throbbing in pain from the lack of support he now had with his legs dragging behind him, the concrete catching his ripped jeans and scraping against open skin.

The three of them turned the corner sharply, and all too suddenly the hold on Keaton was released, sending him sprawling across that same concrete floor. He grunted, shoulder and then back slamming against the cement, briefly knocking the wind out of him. He opened his mouth wide, gasping for a clear breath, looking at the third stranger approaching him out of the corner of his eye. Clenching his jaw in determination, Keaton pushed his hands underneath him and began to stand, intent on getting out of here in any way he could. 

He had half-risen when a foot connected with his side, sending him sprawling across the ground once more. Keaton groaned, but put his hands underneath him again, this time watching the man stalk toward him. He tried to dodge another oncoming kick, but wasn't prepared for the man to dip down and grab the collar of Keaton's shirt, yanking him upward to face him.

"Sounds like we've got another intruder to teach a lesson," the man snarled, grinning widely. Keaton winced, jerking backward in an attempt to rip his shirt from the man's grasp, but all his struggling did was cause the oncoming fist to glance off his cheek instead of directly smashing his face.

"No- seriously, you- I'm not trying to mess up uh- whatever you're doing, I swear, I don't know anything about it- just let me _go_ and I'll leave and I won't cause you any problems." Keaton just managed to wrench himself away and take a few steps backward, looking for another exit than the guarded one.

"That's what they all say." The man made some kind of hand motion Keaton couldn't decipher, and then it was two against one, with Keaton's arms grabbed and roughly jerked behind his back, held in place while the first man stepped away, picking up a long piece of metal as thick as his arm. Keaton blanched as the man stepped closer again, weighing the piece in his hands and preparing to swing.

Keaton barely got a protesting yell out before the rod slammed into his stomach. He leaned forward as much as he could, heartbeat having dropped to his gut some time ago. He breathed raggedly, barely keeping his head up to watch the man pull the metal back and swing it again, this time slamming against his ribs. Some jagged parts tore into his shirt, barely catching and scraping along his skin. That was minimal, however, compared to the sudden pain throbbing through his ribs and lungs, and the air around him felt like it had completely been sucked out of him.

As the rod swung again and again, it became harder for Keaton to keep his head up. Struggling against the hands the held his arms grew more and more difficult as every movement soon was engulfed with a new pain as metal pounded against his arms, his ribs, his ankle, and his face. Keaton's vision swam in hazy pain, and he was sure the stinging on the side of his head was from a gash the metal rod had caused, now dripping blood down the side of his head.

He was staring up at the ceiling -- when had his arms been let go? He couldn't remember. All he knew was the blurry ceiling and the barely coherent pleas spilling out of his mouth as the rod swung down on his chest. All he knew was the loud piercing crack of another rib breaking and the scream that was then ripped from his throat. All he knew was the snarl of a man he had angered somehow without even knowing who he was. All he knew was regret, regret, regret from thinking another risky exploration like this would actually scratch the itch he constantly chased.

Something else cracked. Every breath was near agony, and screaming was the most painful of all but Keaton couldn't stop it. He couldn't stop any of it.

His head slammed to one side as the pipe swung across his cheek, knocking him against the cement and sending his fading vision to complete darkness.


End file.
